


Devil's Night

by parkguardian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkguardian/pseuds/parkguardian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been recently hired at a costume shop, and he despises the guy he has to work with. That is, until he starts to really like him. With the impending doom of not having a date to Danny's Halloween party, Stiles is forced to realize that maybe he has more in common with Isaac than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the stisaac section of ao3 is severely lacking when it comes to halloween fics, and i hope that my addition does not disappoint! my goal is to complete this fic by halloween, which means i'll be uploading chapters in rapid succession to get this complete. thank you for reading

There were plastic skulls and tombstones set on shelves. Pouches of fake blood, deformed masks, rubber spiders. The carpet was a swirl of orange and black. Ghosts made from plastic bags hung from the ceiling. Bins filled with toy scythes and rapiers. Bags of candy corn, tiny chocolates, vibrant gumballs.  
  
When he was a kid, he used to run around with capes and masks, pretending to be his favourite superhero year after year. He would look forward to the leaves changing colours, the late night marathons of horror films, the stupid costume stores opening.  
  
But now?  
  
Now, he wanted said stupid costume store to close. He didn't even care about the paycheck anymore, it wasn't worth having to endure this kind of torture at the end of September. Halloween was weeks away, and he'd been forced to listen to "Monster Mash" more times than he'd like to admit.  
  
And don't get him started on his co-workers. He didn't know how this was possible, but this one kid managed to get the exact same shifts as him every day he worked hours. He was this lanky blonde guy with huge eyes, and the way he took forever when he was behind the register drove Stiles nuts.  
  
Stiles groaned, deflating entirely. He leaned across the space of the counter, staring out at the empty store and seriously wanting to die. He wasn't even bored, he just wanted to die so that he wouldn't have to work here anymore.  
  
"Isaac, dude, can you not mess with the singing skulls for two minutes?" Stiles asked, glaring as his peer pressed the 'try me' button on the merchandise. They were these painted bones with red glowing eyes, and every time Isaac poked at the button, the jaw on the toy dropped down and it belted Michael Jackson's Halloween hit.  
  
Isaac looked over at him.  
  
"Sorry, what?" he asked, hand hovering.  
  
Stiles scrambled out from behind the register, stomping on his untied shoelace and nearly falling on his face as he made his way to the aisle. He screeched to a halt next to Isaac, whose expression was unwavering at Stiles' clumsy display.  
  
"Don't," Stiles said. "Isaac, I swear to god, do not hit that button. Don't even think about it. Don't even not think about it, actually, because not thinking about it would imply still having the concept in your head. If you press that button one more time--"  
  
 _'Cause this is thriller, thriller night!_  
  
Stiles made a noise akin to a dying animal and he slapped at Isaac's hands.  
  
"What did I just say?"  
  
"You said not to hit the button," Isaac said.  
  
"You hit it anyway!"  
  
Isaac nodded, gently patting the skull's cranium. Stiles could feel his eyebrow twitching, the kind of twitch it did when he was seriously annoyed. Isaac wasn't looking at him anymore. He was doting on the little disembodied skeleton head, as if he could seriously appreciate something so tacky. Such affection in his eyes...it was ridiculous on what it was being spent upon.  
  
Stiles huffed.  
  
"What?" Isaac said, not tearing his gaze away.  
  
He huffed again. No words. Isaac didn't deserve to hear a clever retaliation, not after the distasteful disobedience. Stiles was fighting back his wit with all of his might. Sarcasm was the last thing he had going for him, really, but he was going to win this round. He could convey all of his frustration with a few puffs of air.  
  
"Don't you have a job you're supposed to be doing?"  
  
"God dammit," he muttered. Stiles turned on his heel and stalked away to his place back at the counter. He was powerless against this giant button pressing fiend.  
  
Stiles breathed a sigh of relief when Isaac lumbered down a different aisle. He was restless with nothing to do. There were no customers. It was him and Isaac stuck together until their shift ended. Stiles tapped at the gold nameplate attached to his shirt.  
  
"You know, you work here too," Stiles said.  
  
Stiles kind of felt like punching himself in the face.  
  
Isaac drifted into the orbit of the register. Stiles wasn't sure how such a bland comment managed to intrigue him, but it did.  
  
"Yes, I do. I'm doing what I'm supposed to."  
  
"Draining batteries out of the stuff we're trying to sell isn't exactly in our job description," Stiles quipped.  
  
"Neither is being a sarcastic asshole," Isaac mumbled.  
  
"I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?" He stuck out his bottom lip, then dragged a finger down his cheek, miming a tear.  
  
Maybe Isaac would punch him. That way he wouldn't have to do it to himself?  
  
"I didn't ask for you to take up every shift I'm ever on," Stiles said.  
  
Isaac didn't say anything. He didn't seem phased, either. He simply turned his back to Stiles and strolled back over to--  
  
Oh, good lord in the highest heavens.  
  
 _'Cause this is thriller, thriller night!_  
  
*

The next time Stiles was at work, Isaac was not. For once, the other boy was nowhere to be seen. He was stuck with an Asian girl strapped into the arms of a Marvel backpack. He'd never talked to her before. His shift passed as slowly as the last.  
  
Her name tag read Kira, and she listened to her music really loud. When she wasn't wandering around the back with headphones over her ears, she spent her time poking around the shelves and trying on all the different types of wings. She also liked to ask Stiles what he thought about each set she put on.  
  
He didn't care, they all kind of looked the same after a while. He only gave her noncommittal responses while catching sidelong glances at the clock. It's another day with only one customer. Stiles directs them to the right place in the store, and in the end, they leave without buying.  
  
When the door squeaked shut, Kira slid her headphones down to sit at her neck. She tilted her head to one side, black locks cascading into her dark eyes. "We had a customer?" she asked, and Stiles wanted to bash his head in. There was no way she could be so oblivious and simultaneously be able to explain to him the complex story lines the X-Men comics had to offer. It couldn't be possible.  
  
Stiles decided he understood Kira less than he understood Isaac, and he didn't like that one bit.

*

Stiles, listening in to his dad's phone calls as per usual, happened to overhear the code 187 before his dad grabbed his jacket and went out the door. Stiles had taken the time to memorize police slang, and 187 was not a stranger to the Stilinskis--it meant a homicide.  
  
He took up another three shifts dispersed throughout the remainder of the week, although working so many days wasn't his choice. His dad was insistent of keeping him occupied and out of the sheriff's department after the new particularly interesting case had bubbled up in Beacon Hills. Stiles was sure that he'd have enough time between his job and his studies to be able to look more into it later.  
  
Currently, there was a bigger problem on his hands.  
  
Two out of three of his shifts that week, he was stuck with that girl Kira. He'd lost count of the amount of times he'd had to argue with her that DC was _definitely_ better than Marvel. When her headphones were out of her ears, she was actually quite the chatterbox, and liked to rattle on about her girlfriend.  
  
Stiles wouldn't have minded if he weren't so horribly single. He didn't let her know that, though. He was sure with a grin that mischievous, she'd truly tease him over that fact every step of the way. Why make the hours last even longer than they had to be?  
  
His third shift of the week was a sunny Friday that brought about the third of October, only the beginning of his torment. Now that he'd made it through September, customers would surely start to show up at the doors. That meant actually having to interact with people. A whole month left of scanning their plastic costumes and putting them into plastic bags and sending them on their way.  
  
He was cringing before he'd even made it to the doors.  
  
Stiles expected to see Kira lounging near the cash register. Instead, he was filled with a strange rush of relief when he saw Isaac poking through the bins of fake weaponry. He intended to stride over to the blonde and demand to know why he'd left him stranded for three shifts. His body hadn't quite caught up with his thoughts, and he ended up smacking into the side of a shelf.  
  
Stiles saw his life flash before his eyes as he was sent sprawling across the floor. Unfortunately, it wasn't very interesting to see. There was just a lot of jerking off in the shower and more marathons of Star Trek than he'd like to admit.  
  
"It's nice to see you, too," Isaac said.  
  
Isaac was tall, and their height difference was especially exaggerated as Isaac peered down at Stiles from his place on the floor. Stiles felt like an ant in the shadow of the colossus.  
  
"Where have you been?" Stiles asked, in a dignified tone. As dignified one could sound while laying in a dejected heap on the ground.  
  
Isaac offered his hand, which Stiles seriously considered ignoring. Instead, he let his long fingers wrap around Isaac's, allowing himself to be tugged back to a stand. Isaac brushed off the front of Stiles' shirt. For some reason, Stiles felt it necessary to return the favour. He reached over and fixed the collar to Isaac's uniform shirt, then tugged at the fabric a bit, smoothing out the accumulated wrinkles.  
  
"I had other stuff to attend to," Isaac said.  
  
"That's vague, buddy."  
  
"It's on purpose, believe me. You don't want to know what kind of a week I've had," he replied. His voice felt rough at the edges, like his mood had darkened completely.  
  
Stiles snuffled, then cleared his throat. "Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
If Stiles were to be completely honest, he had a hard time caring about what other people were going through. He didn't mean to be that way, he just had a lot of other stuff he had to deal with on a daily basis, and it made it hard for him to really listen to anyone outside of his tiny circle of prioritized people. Scott had spent a long time explaining to Stiles why it was important to at least extend the offer to others, and even if he started to get distracted with his own trains of thought while they were speaking, Stiles had to try to be nice and seem like he was paying attention.  
  
He was making progress. Really, he was.  
  
Isaac shook his head. "No, I don't."  
  
"Do you...want me to get your mind off of it?"  
  
Isaac looked at him, intrigued and tentative. As if he weren't expecting how Stiles could do that, exactly, but he was still willing to try. Unfortunately for Isaac, Stiles didn't plan things ahead often. He had no idea what he was supposed to suggest at this point.  
  
He cranked his head to the left and found his refuge.  
  
The bin of plastic weaponry that Isaac had been digging through contained a great many items. The designs weren't actually battle practical. They looked more like the kind of weapons that would be dropped from spawn points in one of Stiles' MMOs, but he honestly preferred them that way. He dug out one of the fake swords from the pile.  
  
"Are you suggesting a prop fight?" Isaac asked.  
  
Stiles poked Isaac in the stomach with the point of his sword.  
  
"Are you afraid you'll lose? C'mon, pick out a weapon already!"  
  
"You really think you're gonna beat me?"  
  
Stiles prodded him with the sword a second time, nodding with confidence. Isaac rolled his eyes and pulled a battle axe from the bin. He swung it a few times, getting the feel of it like a seasoned warrior would.  
  
"You're like, two feet tall," Isaac smirked. "Want me to get you a box?"  
  
"If you're trying to suggest that you're Legolas and I'm Gimli, I'm just gonna point out that you're the one brandishing the axe," Stiles replied sourly.  
  
Their banter cut off abruptly. They spent a beat of silence glaring at one another, the air thick with tension before battle. Stiles was the first to move, launching into a position that he'd mastered through sessions of LARPing. The pliable plastic still offered a satisfactory smack as the axe and the sword collided.  
  
They inched their way from one end of the store to the next, filling the empty shop with mangled references as they went. Stiles was so confident that he could win, could taste victory at the tip of his tongue as he slanted his sword into Isaac's right shoulder.  
  
Isaac fell to his knees, choking on an anguished cry and dropping his weapon to the floor. Stiles grinned, placing the blade at his jugular.  
  
Then came the words Stiles had never expected to hear from Isaac's pretty mouth.  
  
"It's only a flesh wound."  
  
Isaac picked up the axe with his left hand and smacked Stiles in the back of the knee.  
  
 _That ambidextrous son of a bitch,_ Stiles thought. He let himself fall to the ground for a second time that day, grabbing at his knee and letting Isaac pretend to hack him to bits, because that's what a good person does for their coworker after they've admitted to having a bad week, right? See, progress was being made!  
  
He continued to lay there, lifeless and thoroughly slain. Isaac pat Stiles on the cheek with calloused palm, and even when his eyes were shut, Stiles could hear the smile in Isaac's voice as he said,  
  
"You were right, that did help. Thanks."  
  
The bell at the front of the store chimed, and the warmth of Isaac's hand at the side of Stiles' face vanished. He heard Isaac rushing to say the standard greeting and go to the customer's side, and Stiles wrinkled his nose. When he opened his eyes, he had to blink a few times to clear the blots of after images left from the annoying overhead lights.  
  
Stiles had to admit, he was especially agitated to get back to work after that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bought all the teen wolf dvds yesterday. thank you for reading!

Stiles was exhausted after helping an entire family find costumes. The parents had been too occupied with their three wailing children to clean up the shelves worth of trial and error. Once he'd pointed the family to the direction of the register, he took it upon himself to pick up what they'd left behind. It looked like a tornado had torn through the shop.  
  
Two of the kids had been rather fond of the false appendages, running around their parents in circles and throwing hands and feet at each other as they went along. Their third child had insisted on tugging down any costumes he could reach, and left them on the floor. The parents were frazzled by the time their daughter started to tug at the princess themed shoes and fairy wings and wands.  
  
He pushed a hand through his unruly hair. Attempting to smooth it back was pointless. The dark locks stuck back up seconds after he'd arranged them neatly. He sighed, dropping his hand to his side and wondering where would be the best place to begin.  
  
He considered himself well versed in fairy wings after the Kira incident, so he started to put them all back onto their hangers. Somewhere along the way, he'd decided it was a good idea to start adjusting the wings in order of colour. It took him longer than necessary, but he felt satisfied only after the rainbow gradient had been perfected. The bell at the front of the store shook him back to his senses.  
  
Stiles hurried to put all the costumes back to their proper places, shoved the wands back into their tub of ribbons and glue crusted rhinestones. He stacked the shoes onto the shelves, bothering with them long enough to at least make sure all the pairs were together. He turned and picked up one of the plastic arms from the ground.  
  
"Hey, Isaac? Care to lend me a hand?"  
  
He snickered at his own joke, waving the little arm a bit. Unfortunately for him, the pun seemed to be falling flat, considering there wasn't a reaction from anywhere inside the store. No reply.  
  
There was music playing over the speakers, so maybe Isaac hadn't heard him from the back of the store? This was obviously a matter of utmost importance, though, so Stiles stepped out from the aisle. He started to make his way to the front register, but he could already tell that Isaac wasn't there anymore.  
  
"Isaac?" he tried again, clutching at the amputated arm so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He raised the arm defensively, similar to the way one would hold a baseball bat. He stepped closer to the counter.  
  
Maybe it was the fact creepy props and mannequins were set up all around the shop, or the fact that Isaac had suddenly decided to vanish into thin air, but Stiles could feel adrenaline flooding him. His breath caught in his throat when there was the faint brush of a hand at his back, then a tap on his shoulder.  
  
Stiles whirled around and was staring up at a gore covered maw and lifeless white eyes. If his heart weren't currently stopping, maybe he would have noticed the words 'Made in China' etched into the rubber skin, or the nameplate reading Isaac attached to the mask wearing perpetrator. Instead, he let out a scream and toppled over a bucket full of candy, slamming his back into the edge of the counter.  
  
"Holy _shit!_ What the hell are you doing?" Stiles yelped, scowling.  
  
Isaac's laughter was muffled until he tugged the mask off over his head. His expression was bright and the bridge of his nose was turning pink, and Stiles released the tension in his shoulders.  
  
"I got you," Isaac warbled, poking Stiles in the chest.  
  
"So what if you did?" Stiles huffed, smacking Isaac's intrusive finger away with a hand. Not his hand, but the plaster disembodied one that was still stuck in his grip.  
  
"It was awesome is what," Isaac said.  
  
Isaac looked seriously giddy that he'd managed to turn Stiles ghostly pale. Stiles snatched the mask from Isaac, holding it away from him. Isaac didn't consider that too much of a loss, and simply stepped around Stiles to take his place back behind the counter.  
  
"You're cleaning this up," Stiles replied, pointing at the scattered chocolates and lollipops. Just as he turned to stalk away, a thundercloud forming at his forehead, he heard Isaac quietly musing to himself.  
  
"He's not even gonna _lend me a hand?"_  
  
This wasn't over. No, it had only just begun.

*

He'd taken it out of the box and set it up at the front display, set beautifully between a bleeding head fountain and a cardboard cut out of zombie Elvis. He'd tried it out a few times already, and the sheer terror of it still hadn't worn off.  
  
He really hoped Isaac hated spiders.  
  
The spider itself was very lifelike, spindly legs bristling with thin hairs. It had eight beady red eyes and its body was poised to strike. There was a small connecting cable that wired it in to a pad on the floor that cheerily read 'try me!' What Isaac wouldn't know, however, was that placing the sole of his sneaker onto the pressure pad would send the spider hurtling toward his face at high speeds.  
  
Isaac was pretty tall, so it would probably send the spider flying right at his chest. Stiles was sure that scenario was just as terrifying. He got onto one knee and started to pretend to fiddle with the cable, when in actuality, he was staring down at the watch strapped to his wrist.  
  
Stiles had noticed in the time they'd spent together on their shifts that Isaac was remarkably punctual. It was extremely rare for Stiles to beat Isaac to the shop, but today Stiles had made sure to set multiple alerts on his phone to remind him to get ready early to prepare for this moment.  
  
As expected, the second that the numbers at the face of the clock switched to 1 pm, there was the calamity of the doors opening. Stiles shot back up to a stand too quickly, stumbling over himself in the wake of a head rush as he turned to face Isaac. He blinked a few times and tried for nonchalance.  
  
"Um."  
  
He faltered, unable to bring any other words to complete the sentence. Isaac didn't interrupt him, just stood there watching with quiet amusement as Stiles watered down his thought processes. He knew he should have scripted some of this out before he came to work. He'd gotten too excited and jumpy, Isaac was going to see this ploy from a mile away.  
  
 _Nonchalance, Stilinski, come on,_ Stiles thought, berating himself inwardly, _Say something casual. Point out the spider. You're supposed to be wittier than this!_  
  
Stiles opened his mouth. He was gaping like a fish, shutting his mouth and opening it again a few seconds after. Isaac's eyebrows had raised to meet his hairline, and Stiles wanted to smack that stupid smile off his face.  
  
"You doing okay?" Isaac asked.  
  
"Uh."  
  
"'Brevity is the soul of wit,'" Isaac quoted, folding his arms over his chest.  
  
Stiles stammered, only to be cut off once more by his coworker.  
  
"Don't worry, Stiles. I'm not very witty, either."  
  
He was fuming by the time he managed to spit out his line, flapping a hand in the direction of the spider. "I think it's broken. Humour me and give it a try, alright?"  
  
Isaac nodded, closing the space between the doors and the yellow mat. He stomped his foot into the designated area, and had the gall to make direct eye contact with Stiles as the spider lunged at his torso. He caught it before it could ricochet onto the floor, and there was that same smug look on his face from earlier.  
  
"Doesn't look broken to me," he said.  
  
Stiles groaned, exasperated. That was the only plan he'd been able to come up with after a whole twenty four hours of effort, and it hadn't even been worth it in the end. Isaac had turned his attention to the spider, delightedly patting it on the head.  
  
"This is really cool, I didn't even know we had these in stock," Isaac chirped.  
  
"You like spiders," Stiles said flatly.  
  
"Yeah?" Isaac posed this statement with a tilt in his voice, as if he were oblivious to the fact that liking spiders was unusual.  
  
"God dammit, _fine._ I have no idea how to get you back. You must be a real treat during horror movies, 'cause you're like, invincible to all things scary. I'm supposed to be the person who figures stuff out, and you--yes, you, Isaac--have broken me. You are staring into the eyes of a broken man. You win. I hope you're happy, because I'm not," he agonized, with the intensity of a soliloquy on a professional stage.  
  
Isaac was visibly elated at the prospect of winning. To make matters worse, he bumbled around in Stiles' vicinity for the rest of their shift, wearing one of the costume crowns and declaring himself king of tricks and treats.

*

If he were playing Tekken with anyone else, he wouldn't be getting his ass kicked.  
  
Stiles had mastered the art of button mashing, his long fingers skittering across the expanse of the controller. He was prone to getting a cramp in his hand but he could successfully triumph any amateurs who bothered to challenge him. He liked to yell at the TV screen, shout at his character when he executed the wrong array of attacks, taunt his opponent loudly. These were all things that Scott was no longer phased by, because Scott and Stiles had been playing video games together since they were tiny kids.  
  
Scott wasn't as versatile when it came to character selection as Stiles was, but that was because he knew his singular character's moves like they'd been bench pressed into his brain. He punched down each button with stealthy precision, not batting an eye when Stiles jumped up from the couch and started hopping around as he pressed random buttons on the controller.  
  
How could Stiles compete with such poise? Such finesse?  
  
Stiles could recall a time when he could win every round against Scott, but his glory days were no longer. He watched as his character spiralled into a K.O. screen. Scott cheered in earnest, like winning still came as a surprise to him.  
  
Stiles collapsed back into the groove of the couch, kicking his legs out so he could slump comfortably. Scott queued up a rematch, picking the same character he always went with and waiting as Stiles looked through the unlocked selection.  
  
"Danny's having a party," Scott said. "For Halloween? It sounds like something you'd wanna go to."  
  
Surprisingly, Stiles was the one who'd insisted on dragging Scott out to parties throughout the years. He wasn't used to being out of the loop when it came to the Californian rave scene, especially considering the small size of a place like Beacon Hills. That's why it came as a shock to be hearing the news from Scott, of all people.  
  
"Danny's having a party and you knew before me?"  
  
"Well, Ethan told Aiden to tell Lydia to tell Allison to tell me that he wanted us to go," Scott said, drawing out the order of the names carefully, like he wanted to make sure he got it all right.  
  
"He wanted _us_ to go, or he wanted _you_ to go?"  
  
"He said just me, but I know what he meant," Scott said, shoving a hand into Stiles' hair and ruffling it up considerably. Stiles made a noise of protest, but it wasn't like it was going to make much of an aesthetic difference. Stiles' hair refused to be anything other than messy when it started to grow out. Scott gave Stiles a little lopsided smile. "Besides, he knows I wouldn't show up at a party sans Stiles. It's against the code."  
  
"Scott, if you try to tell me the bro code--"  
  
"It totally exists! It's what makes us so in love with each other, dude, it's why we work! Where would I be without my best friend, huh?"  
  
"Not at parties?" Stiles guessed. "Making out with Allison?"  
  
"You could be with us while we make out, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."  
  
Stiles tore his attention from the screen, which was currently displaying a turnaround 3D model of the character he'd stopped on. He squinted at Scott, who was very obviously trying to bite back a grin. Stiles smacked him on the shoulder.  
  
"Don't ever suggest something so traumatizing to me again."  
  
"Come on, it's nothing you haven't seen before!"  
  
"Not a day passes where I don't try to block it from my memory," he mumbled. Stiles jabbed the x button, selecting his character and starting up the next battle. Scott shook with laughter, swinging like a pendulum and knocking his shoulder up against Stiles' jovially.  
  
"You're going with us," Scott said decisively.  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"Since now! Try to make it a double date, so I won't have to feel bad for leaving you to go dance with Allison."  
  
"Oh, yeah, lemme just conjure up a date out of fucking nowhere, Scott. Real great idea, I'm absolutely delighted. 'Cause asking someone out went so well for me last time. Do you remember what happened last time, Scott? That's not exactly a scene I want to replicate," Stiles said, pulling himself into an upright position. He leaned forward, running the pad of his thumb over the buttons. The screen rattled out a countdown for the match to start.  
  
Scott slipped into an 'all business' mode and engrossed himself in the fight. Stiles was admittedly not as animated this round as he was the last, but that was because his mind had started to wander away from the in-game duel. He'd started to pick through potential candidates to bring along for the ride.  
  
The result his mind had presented him with was unexpected.  
  
He wasn't sure when Isaac had started to rank so highly above any other people Stiles spoke with on a daily basis, but...okay, who was he kidding? Isaac, Scott, and his dad were the only people he spoke with on a daily basis. It's not like he was opposed to having a group of friends, he just didn't care enough to make any besides Scott.  
  
He jolted back to attention when Scott crowed in victory. There was a proud ratio at the bottom of the screen that read 14:0 and Stiles decided he didn't care anymore. There was no making a come back at this point.  
  
"So, you got anyone you can ask?" Scott was bouncing excitedly at Stiles' side, rubbing one sweaty hand off on his jeans. Video games were hard work. Anyone who said otherwise could go kick a football around or something.  
  
"You make it sound like my options are few and far between," Stiles sighed, pushing a few fingers through the front of his hair.  
  
"You do have a friend other than me, though."  
  
" _Yes,_ Scott. I might have someone who can make it," Stiles said, "but he's not gonna be my date."  
  
"That's my boy," Scott said proudly, clapping him on the shoulder. Then, as if the Stilinski house were his own, Scott dropped the controller onto the empty cushion next to him and wandered off to rummage through the pantry.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's asexual awareness week! you can leave a comment about this chapter, or you can leave a comment with any teen wolf ace/aro/demi/grey-a headcanons you feel like sharing. thank you! enjoy!

Stiles was used to running on a few hours of sleep. It was nothing that a handful of Adderall couldn't make up for, so he downed his prescription dosage with a glass of orange juice and a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Stiles and his dad sat at opposite ends of the table. The rest of the surface space was occupied with glossy crime scene photos, the centerpiece of all the spattered blood being a maimed man with glasses. With a sheriff for a father, these were the kinds of displays you could expect at breakfast.  
  
Stiles didn't let the gore phase him. He flicked through the alerts on his phone, shoveling toast into his mouth. He tapped a few of the reminders, marking them off of his electronic checklist.  
  
"Scott went home?"  
  
Stiles looked up from his phone. His father's eyes were trained downward, boring holes into the pictures on the tabletop. Stiles gently set his phone down. "No, um," he began, then paused to push scraps of food about his plate. "He's still asleep."  
  
"No classes today, then."  
  
Not to mention Scott worked late hours at the animal clinic with Deaton. Stiles preferred to work shifts at the shop in the afternoon, and it wasn't like Scott was a stranger to the house. They'd done this plenty of times, it was almost considered a routine at this point. Scott was welcome to sleep in while Stiles went off to work. After all, it was Stiles' fault they'd stayed up late. He was the one who had insisted on re-watching Firefly for the hundredth time.  
  
"No classes," he echoed. "Tell him we've still got pizza in the fridge. Oh, and some of those weird hickory burgers he likes."  
  
Stiles stood from the table, carrying the plate over to the sink. When he turned back around, his dad had shuffled the order of some of the photos. He was bent nearly in half trying to examine them closely, but Stiles could still see his lighthearted smile as he said, "Guess I'm babysitting in my free time now."  
  
Stiles laughed, turning the faucet on with a squeak. He rinsed the crumbs from the plate and set it gingerly into the sink. He grabbed his phone before making his way to the other end of the table, hovering at the sheriff's side.  
  
"Any leads?"  
  
"Bringing in a suspect tomorrow," his dad replied.  
  
"Can I come?"  
  
"Go to work, Stiles."  
  
Stiles skid along the tile in his socks. He climbed up the stairs and ducked quietly into his room. Scott snored softly and turned over at the sound of the door coming open, but didn't stir enough to wake. Stiles was quick to change into his work uniform. His hair still felt wet from the shower, body buzzing with the pills that were quickly waking him up.  
  
He did a second scroll through the checklist on his phone, ensuring he'd grabbed everything, including the car keys off his desk. It was a short drive down to the shopping centre at Beacon Hills, where the larger surplus stores cradled the Halloween outlet. There were four or five other cars parked out front, and Stiles parked in one of the vacant spaces far from anyone else's vehicle. He gave the dashboard to his lovely blue Jeep an affectionate pat, then climbed out.  
  
Okay, so maybe he was running a bit late.  
  
By the time he'd clocked in, the duo working the previous shift had already left.  
  
Isaac was terrible at the register. He had a line forming, which was making him visibly nervous as he picked out a wad of ones. He was attempting to count out the amount of cash to give back to the customer, and he flinched when one of the dollars fluttered slowly to the ground. Stiles was quick to come to his rescue.  
  
"Move over," he told him, and Isaac gladly got out of the way. Stiles didn't bother to pick up the dollar until he'd finished ringing up the purchase. The line that Isaac had accumulated was diminished within moments of Stiles punching in the numbers, and Isaac watched him in awe the entire time.  
  
There was the faint growl of a car starting in the lot. They'd been left with one customer remaining, and she was a petite woman with her hair tied up in a bun. She was digging around the decorations in the back. Isaac looked like he was going to slip out from behind the register to offer his assistance, but Stiles grabbed at him, stopping Isaac in his tracks.  
  
"You doing anything for Halloween?" Stiles asked. He dropped his hold on Isaac's forearm, leaning his weight against the counter instead.  
  
"No," Isaac said. "Wasn't planning on it. At least, not this year."  
  
Isaac fought to force a smile onto his features, and any composure Stiles had about asking Isaac to the party was drained out of him in seconds. Isaac made his way to the back of the store, shoulders slumped, and all Stiles could do was watch.

*

It wasn't much of a surprise that Isaac didn't come in for work the next day.  
  
The sky had turned that colour that no one actually knew the name of, that middle wedge of orange and blue. Clouds streaked across the gradient, thin and shaped like fish bones. Stiles rubbed his hands together, trying to jump start some warmth into them. Kira was at his side, rocking on her heels impatiently.  
  
"She should be here any minute," Kira said.  
  
At the start of their shift together, Kira had taken out a tiny Batman key chain and given it to Stiles. He was content to spend the rest of the afternoon listening to her talk about how she'd picked up a few of the comics at the bookstore near her house, and that she was considering giving DC a second chance, if only because Stiles was a great persuasive influence. Once they'd clocked out, Kira had asked Stiles to wait outside with her until her ride came to get her. Stiles fiddled with the little key chain and agreed.  
  
Kira's girlfriend turned out to be a terrible driver. She swerved all across the parking lot before slamming on her brakes, coming to a stop an inch from the curb.  
  
"She hasn't been driving for very long," Kira told him.  
  
Her name was Malia, and despite the cold weather, she was wearing shorts. Her sweater hung off her frame, skin tanned to the point of being shiny. Her honey coloured hair was long and messy. She stuck her hand out, and when Stiles went to shake it, it turned out that Malia was as strong as she looked. He pulled back once his bony fingers had been thoroughly crushed in her grip.  
  
"We've actually met before," Malia said, eyes sparkling.  
  
"We have?"  
  
"Yes, I think so. There was a party a couple months ago, with a big bonfire? You danced with me for a while, and then I saw you throw up on your friend," Malia grinned. "I gave you some gum."  
  
"Great," Stiles choked out, face flushing. He remembered that night in blurry detail. Scott had been upset that Stiles had puked all over the front of his favourite t-shirt, but it wasn't as bad as provoking the wrath of Danny. Yeah, Danny wasn't too happy that Stiles showed up and drank himself into a stupor. That was kind of the reason Stiles wasn't invited to parties anymore.  
  
"You're Danny's friend," Malia said.  
  
"Uh, kind of."  
  
Kira tucked herself into the side of Malia's body. Stiles couldn't help but think they made a pretty couple as they fit together with ease. He tried his best to not feel that stinging jealousy at the back of his throat.  
  
"We'll see you at his Halloween party, right?" Kira asked.  
  
"I think--"  
  
He was interrupted by an enthusiastic Malia. "Awesome, can't wait!" she said, flashing him a toothy smile. She was brimming with excitement, like a drunk Stiles sounded like the best entertainment Danny's party could possibly offer.  
  
Kira tugged Malia down to give her a quick kiss on the lips, then went around to the passenger's side of the car. With Malia back behind the wheel, they sped away in a reckless fashion. Stiles exhaled, waiting until they'd completely evacuated before he attempted to cross the lot to his Jeep.  
  
"First Scott, now Kira," he mumbled aloud, jamming his key into the door. He slid into the driver's seat and tried to focus on getting back home.  
  
Everything was tying back to that stupid party, which Stiles wasn't even supposed to be going to in the first place. This was just like that time Stiles had been paranoid and started making a map of red line conspiracy theories on his bedroom wall. If it wasn't dead presidents, it was a party. If it wasn't aliens, it was trying to get a date. It was all connected in some way. Seriously, he couldn't show up to this party alone. His life depended on it.

*

Stiles pulled up in the driveway just as his dad was about to leave. In the time it had taken for him to drive back home, the sun had dipped below the horizon. A few stars were making their way into the sky, cold and bright in the denim blue. When he kicked open the car door and staggered out, chills rocketed up his arms.  
  
"Dad, wait!"  
  
He knew his dad was going to the station. His olive green jacket was snug around his broad form, and he was folded in on himself against the wind. He seemed sad, too, with a tight lipped expression. Stiles was sure it had something to do with the suspect they'd brought in.  
  
"Stiles, I have to go _now_ \--"  
  
"Let me come with you. Please? I just gotta go upstairs and change," Stiles said. "It'll only be a second, I promise."  
  
He didn't give his father the chance to reply. He bolted to the front door, tripping over himself as he ran up the stairs two at a time. He tossed his uniform off and left it crumpled on his bed. He didn't care what shirt-and-jeans combo he grabbed from his wardrobe. He shrugged on a jacket and left his room, not bothering to take his keys or his phone out from the mandatory khakis.  
  
The glow of the headlights stung his eyes as he passed the front of the car. The heater was already on, and Stiles was glad for it. His dad gave him a pointed look until Stiles had buckled in, then backed out of the driveway.  
  
They drove on without speaking. The sheriff liked to play the radio in the car, but quiet enough to the point it was constant background noise. Stiles couldn't help but bounce his leg, fidget in his seat, tap a mindless rhythm on his pants legs. His dad preferred to generate white noise, and Stiles liked to make his own.  
  
Stiles felt that rising pressure to start running his mouth, so he did.  
  
"Who do they think it is?"  
  
"They think his son did it," his dad said, shaking his head sadly.  
  
Stiles didn't speak for the rest of the drive. He stared out the window, the streetlights streaming by in orange. He drifted off in his own thoughts, happy to space out and ignore the heavy atmosphere. When they pulled up at the station, he didn't notice until his father jostled his shoulder.  
  
"Come on, you can wait outside with Tara. I'll try to make this quick."  
  
"Yeah, okay."  
  
Stiles followed his dad through the winding desks stacked with paperwork. The station was familiar, a second home at this point. He'd spent countless hours down here with his dad from when he was a kid. Tara was a familiar face as well. When he was younger, she had been happy to help him with his homework, or she'd give him change for the vending machines outside.  
  
She'd also made the clever observation that Stiles liked to attempt the cases his dad was picking away at. Tara would sit with him as he flipped through the folders she'd provided him with. He was itching to find out more about the bespeckled man he'd only caught a glance of, and he knew that Tara would not disappoint.  
  
His dad went one way and Stiles the other.  
  
Tara was behind the front desk, scribbling a message out on the notepad. The phone was tucked at her shoulder as she wrote. Stiles knew not to bother her yet, so he sat nearby and waited.  
  
He jumped up the second the phone was set back on the hook.  
  
"My dad won't tell me anything," Stiles said. "You've gotta know more about that dude who got mauled, right? Why do they think his kid did it?"  
  
Tara's attention shifted from her notepad and to the screen of her PC. "I can't tell you much, but that's because we don't have much to go off of yet. The case has only been open for about a week, we're still waiting on all the forensics reports." She started to type something, the keys clicking loudly under her nails.  
  
"Well, what _do_ you have to go off of?" Stiles craned his neck to see the monitor, even if the weird angle was making all the colours skew.  
  
"Patience solves cases, Stiles. Not the opposite," she reminded him.  
  
From what Stiles could see, all her typing had brought up were the same pictures he'd seen earlier. She scrolled down to the filed reports, eyes scanning through the text. Stiles didn't bother to do the same. He could barely read the print from where he was stood.  
  
He dropped back off his toes, watching Tara's face for any revealing cues rather than the screen. There was a twitch at the corner of her lips. Pupils dilating only just. Her eyebrows raised a centimeter. It was enough for Stiles to expect her to start speaking.  
  
"The victim appears to have had several disturbances filed against him prior to his death," she paraphrased. "According to their neighbor, Jackson Whittemore, the father had a history of causing a scene. He'd kick his kid out of the house, throw stuff at him from across the yard. Another report was filed a few years ago from a Marin Morrell, I'm sure you've talked with her before, she's the guidance counselor at the high school. She notified us that his son had shown up to the school with an uncanny amount of bruises."  
  
Stiles was at Tara's side in seconds, reading through the reports she'd stopped on. He pointed at the top of the report from the counselor. "Look at the date," he said. "Her report came in the day after one of Jackson's."  
  
Tara nodded, then continued to scroll down. The next portion of the files was an assortment of pictures of the man Stiles assumed was the victim. He was wearing the same wire framed glasses as the corpse.  
  
"Maybe he deserved it," Stiles muttered. "If he was hurting his kid."  
  
"Stiles," Tara warned.  
  
He didn't apologize. He asked Tara to go back up to the part of the report of the blood spatter analysis, scanning through details on how his face had been bashed in and he'd been sliced open.  
  
"Who was he?"  
  
"Swim coach at the high school," Tara said. "Or he was, before he retired. You might've been in school while he was there, though. Did you know Coach Lahey?"  
  
Stiles froze. He was startled when his stomach lurched, throat closing up. He reached for the mouse, clicking through page after page until he'd found the ones with pictures of the coach. The page that followed was filled with scanned images of a familiar face.  
  
"Stiles? Did you--?"  
  
"No," Stiles blurted out. "No, I didn't know him. I know his son."  
  
Isaac Lahey, with his blonde curls and his squared jaw, was side by side with the man who was murdered. His eyes were hauntingly large, staring out at Stiles through the computer screen. Stiles jerked away from the computer, pulling his hand off the mouse like he'd been burned by it. His thumb found its way to his mouth, teeth dragging at the skin nervously.  
  
"They think Isaac's the killer."  
  
"They don't know for sure," Tara said. The cursor hovered over the red button at the edge of the screen. She clicked before Stiles could stop her, closing out the reports so that Stiles couldn't see.  
  
"But they think that he is," Stiles spat. "He's not, I know he's not."  
  
"Maybe you should sit down," Tara suggested calmly. "I know he's a friend of yours, but there's no need to panic. Even if he weren't a suspect, your father would have had to bring him in anyway. He needs to be interrogated about his father. Isaac could provide valuable leads if he knows about anyone with a grudge against Mr. Lahey."  
  
Stiles pretended like he hadn't been completely rattled, like he wasn't trembling and having to force his breath to even out.  
  
"He's not my friend," Stiles insisted.  
  
"You acted like he was," Tara said.  
  
"He's not," he repeated. "He's my coworker."  
  
Tara nodded, then fished out a few coins from the pocket of her jacket. She pressed the cool metal into Stiles' palm and told him to buy something and said it would be best if he "tried not to think too hard about anything."  
  
He wandered to the break room of the station, sliding the coins into the change slot and getting a soda. It dropped from the vending machine with a thunk. He popped it open, holding it at a distance to avoid being sprayed with bubbling foam. He downed all of it in one go. It was more like chugging syrup than an actual drink. He tossed it in the direction of the trash bin, and he didn't care if it missed.  
  
Stiles heard the tell-tale squeak of shoes on tile from down the hall. There was also the jangling of keys, matching the stride he'd come to recognize as his father's. He stepped out from his place in front of the vending machines.  
  
Isaac and the sheriff came around the turn in the wall. His dad's hand was at Isaac's back, making sure that Isaac continued to walk in front of him. Stiles couldn't remember a time he'd seen Isaac out of uniform. He had a thick scarf at his neck and a heavy jacket on, the darker colours making his skin look deathly pale.  
  
Stiles wondered why Isaac hadn't said anything. He'd noticed when Isaac was feeling restless and upset, and he'd noticed when Isaac had tried to hide that he was feeling that way. It wasn't like Stiles hadn't offered to listen.  
  
They were quiet as they walked back to the front desk. Tara greeted them without her fingers stilling at the keys. Stiles waited as his dad made his way over to her. Right when it seemed like he was going to engage in conversation, he turned back to Stiles.  
  
"We're taking Isaac home. Go wait by the car. Tara and I need to talk," he said.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I'll be out in a minute."  
  
Stiles knew that meant it would actually take ten or fifteen minutes. He was sure his dad was running down whatever conclusion he'd made about Isaac, then listening to Tara's own assessment. Stiles knew she'd probably bring up how he'd reacted to finding out the suspect was Isaac, too, rather than saving him from the embarrassment of it all.  
  
Stiles lead Isaac out the side door and to the designated parking for the sheriff. The car sat in the shadows. It was quiet, aside from the crackle of their shoes on the asphalt. For once, Stiles was at a loss for words. He didn't know what to say, so when Isaac started to ramble, he let him.  
  
"I know what it looks like," Isaac said, voice cracking roughly.  
  
Stiles didn't know what it looked like. He couldn't believe his dad would think of Isaac as the suspect, or humor the asshole who had originally suggested it.  
  
"He wasn't always...it was after we lost everyone else. I didn't want to lose him, too," he continued. His face crumpled, eyes pricking with tears. When the first slid down the side of his face, he went to bury his face in his hands. Stiles reached out to take Isaac's hands in his own, and Isaac let him.  
  
Stiles dragged Isaac into a hug. It was loose, at first. They were barely held together. Isaac's arms slid around Stiles' torso. He had a few inches on Stiles' height, but he had no qualms with burrowing himself closer against Stiles' body. Isaac was a furnace, and Stiles was getting a mouthful of scarf. He couldn't bring himself to care much. Isaac was trying not to make any noise as he cried. He was choking a bit on each gasp. Stiles felt one of Isaac's tears drop onto the bare skin of his neck, and he shivered.  
  
Stiles wasn't sure what to do with his hands. He remembered that when his mom used to talk him down from panic attacks, she'd rub circles into his back. Stiles started to swipe his palm along Isaac's spine, tentative.  
  
"I'm not a murderer," Isaac mumbled. He repeated himself over and over. Those words became a mantra, shakily spoken against Stiles' shoulder. "I wouldn't kill him, I'm not a murderer."  
  
"I know," Stiles said, voice muffled. He hoped Isaac wouldn't mind that Stiles was getting spit on his scarf. "Isaac, it's okay."  
  
"It isn't okay," Isaac replied.  
  
"It's going to be," he promised.  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
Stiles squeezed him tightly, then took a step out from the hug so he could see Isaac's face. Isaac grabbed at his hands, trying to keep him close. Stiles let Isaac hang onto his arms, holding at his wrists with icy fingers. Isaac's face was streaked red, eyes shined with a glaze of tears. He was biting down at his chapped lips.  
  
"I've been through this before," Stiles said.  
  
Isaac didn't speak, but Stiles felt the hold at his wrists tighten.  
  
"I lost my mom, and it felt like the world was going to end. I didn't know what to do with myself. I spent too many days trying to figure out a way I could have saved her, but there was no way it was possible, not even if I'd managed to steal a time machine or something. I wouldn't have made it through if I were alone."  
  
Isaac blinked, another roll of tears running down to his chin. Stiles tugged his hand back to wipe at Isaac's face with the soft sleeve of his jacket.  
  
"You're not alone, though, are you? You're not alone, Isaac," he said. "If you ever need anything, you can talk to me. I have my own car, you know? If you need to get out of the house, or you want me to get you McDonald's at three in the morning--"  
  
"Okay, I get your point. You don't have to--"  
  
Isaac faltered and dropped Stiles' wrist at the sound of the sheriff approaching. Isaac crossed his arms, keeping at a sudden distance from Stiles as his dad made his way to the car. The sheriff gave them a tired smile. "Alright, boys. Time to go home."  
  
Stiles decided to sit in the back seat with Isaac. He watched as Isaac tugged off his scarf and scrubbed at his face with it. He stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket once it had been successfully covered in snot.  
  
The radio station his dad had picked out was playing dreamy songs filled with saxophones and trumpets and the warbling vocals of the '40s. Stiles could see that his dad was tapping his index finger on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.  
  
"D'you feel any better?" Stiles asked, attempting to be quieter than the radio, but that in itself was an impossible feat.  
  
"A little," Isaac snuffled.  
  
The seats in the car weren't soft. Rather, they felt leathery and they made a padded noise as Stiles pat the spot at his side. Isaac slid over and pressed himself close to Stiles once again. It didn't take long for Isaac to be slumped across Stiles' lap with his legs tucked up at an awkward angle. Isaac had fallen into a light sleep, rocking with the motion of the car as they dragged to a stop at the stop sign.  
  
His dad might have already known the way to Isaac's house, but Stiles didn't. He watched out the windows to try and remember the route. He put his hands into Isaac's curly hair, lightly scratching at his scalp in a way he hoped would be comforting. When the car came to a stop in front of a house with no lights on, Stiles felt bad that he had to wake Isaac back up. Stiles didn't bother to climb back to the front seat after they'd let Isaac off.  
  
They waited until Isaac was inside before they drove away.  
  
"I didn't know you two were friends," his dad said.  
  
Stiles cleared his throat. His body felt cold without Isaac sprawled over him. Stiles stuck the string to his jacket into his mouth and gnawed at it absentmindedly. He stopped chewing at it long enough to supply, "Uh, yeah. We work together."  
  
He wasn't entirely sure how it'd happened, or when it had started, but maybe Stiles cared about Isaac more than he thought. Somehow, without any warning, Isaac had managed to worm his way into that small group of people that Stiles actually cared about.  
  
Stiles couldn't help but worry about what that might imply.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this episode of teen wolf was broadcasted before a live studio audience. thank you for reading!

The moon was fat and ear wax yellow, glaring down from its throne in the star stitched sky. The air carried the smell of rain. The dirt was soft, getting stuck up under his short nails as he fought to find his footing in the upturned earth. Briars picked at his skin, ripping at his clothes as he went.  
  
The forest spit him out, dirtier than he entered. He was slicked with grime and dotted with burrs. He hadn't expected to find himself in a clearing. The open space of the meadow in comparison to the close-knit framework of the weaved woods left him overwhelmed. There was a cabin, sitting in the undisturbed grass. It looked painted in, like it had come straight from a book of fairy tales.  
  
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until Stiles got up close.  
  
The door was ajar. The window adjacent was busted. Shards of glass were showering the porch. He pushed his way inside, shoes squeaking on the tile. He looked down and saw a dark substance smeared along the flooring.  
  
All the lights were off, with the exception being a flickering lamp in the kitchen. There were family portraits lining the walls, framed perfect and pretty. When Stiles went to peer at one in the darkness, he found that Isaac was staring back, one arm slung around the shoulders of his wrinkled father.  
  
He continued down the entry hall, stopping at the arch into the kitchen. He had been tracking the dark liquid every step of the way, but here it was pooled along the slate.  
  
Stiles found two figures in the kitchen. One was pressed flat against the floor, glasses skewed. There was no life in his eyes. His midsection was shredded. The man was bathing in his own blood. The second figure was hunched over him, with horrific claws sporting from his fingers. He was feral, panting animalistically through bared fangs.  
  
Isaac lifted his head. Blood was dripping from his chin. His eyes weren't the mosaic blue that Stiles was used to. They'd turned a dirtied gold.  
  
Stiles backed himself up into the dining table, jostling silverware and the plates noisily. Isaac raised from the floor, stepping across the lifeless body of his father and setting his sights on Stiles.  
  
Stiles jolted awake, still feeling the traces of claws at his throat. He had rocketed upright, hands scrabbling at his neck, expecting to feel the crawl of warm blood making its way down the front of his pajamas. He found a smear of sweat and the worn thin fabric of his t-shirt instead.  
  
Breathing was supposed to be easy.  
  
Holding your breath correlated with calming yourself back down. All it did for Stiles was freak him out a little more. When he was fourteen, he found out that if you held your breath for over four minutes, your brain cells would be starved of oxygen. Lack of oxygen was what lead the brain cells to die, and excessively repeating such an activity would result in brain damage. Stiles couldn't hold his breath for that long, but he was still irrationally afraid that he was hurting his brain nonetheless.  
  
He grabbed his phone and started reading through his reminders. He'd woken up before his alarm had been set for, so he made sure to switch that off. If he hadn't, it would have been screaming at him in less than an hour.  
  
Stiles sat back against the pillows. He let himself browse articles and swipe his way through a game of 2048. He tried catching up on a webcomic, but he started to smell bacon from downstairs. His stomach growled at him angrily.  
  
His dad was in front of the microwave. It was humming loudly, spewing the fragrance of breakfast all through the kitchen. Stiles went to take his designated seat at the table, but stopped when he saw familiar photos set out on the chargers.  
  
"Dad, can we put these away? It's been two weeks," Stiles said. "I don't want to look at them anymore."  
  
"You usually love to help me solve cases," his dad pointed out. The microwave beeped, and he went to take out the bacon. He flipped each strip and replaced the paper towel on top before putting them back in another two minutes.  
  
"This is different," Stiles stressed. "Isaac's been to too many funerals for a kid my age. The least we could do is take the pictures of his dead dad off the fucking table so we can eat breakfast. Okay?"  
  
The sheriff didn't say anything. He handed Stiles his bottle of Adderall, then started to stack the photos spread across the table. Stiles didn't sit down until they'd all been put up in their manilla folder.  
  
"I shouldn't have left them out so long. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's fine."

*

It wasn't fine.  
  
Stiles had offered to be there for Isaac, and then he'd forgotten to give him his phone number, so there was no way for Isaac to reach him. Stiles hadn't been given the opportunity to correct his error, because Isaac hadn't shown back up to work in weeks. There were plenty of other ways Isaac could have found Stiles' number, but he hadn't missed any odd calls or texts. Isaac wasn't trying to contact him, which meant he probably wanted to be left alone.  
  
Stiles had no idea how someone who stood out so well could disappear so easily.  
  
As luck would have it, though, Isaac turned up later that day. He came to work without gold eyes and claws, which left Stiles feeling ridiculously relieved.  
  
Being a week away from Halloween meant they had no time to speak to one another. There was barely any time for an offhand comment, let alone trying for heavy conversation. They were kept busy with refilling the candy bowls, breaking the seals on rolls of quarters and dimes, calling out greetings, and seeking misplaced costume wigs.  
  
It wasn't until they'd clocked out that Isaac tried to talk to him.  
  
"Can I get a ride home?"  
  
Stiles nodded, stepping out into the lot to make his way to the Jeep. Isaac followed close behind, ducking his head down. Stiles didn't have to ask for directions; Isaac was directing him toward his house once they were out of the shopping centre. He didn't have to ask Isaac how he was doing, either. As soon as they'd breached a neighborhood that seemed vaguely familiar to Stiles, Isaac started to speak.  
  
"I thought if I never had to say it out loud, it would be like it didn't happen. I could get up and go to work and pretend like he was at home, waiting for me to get back," he said. "I was the only person at the service. I think someone stole the flowers off his grave two days after I'd left them."  
  
Stiles turned down the street Isaac indicated he'd need to make a left at. He pulled to a stop by the mailbox. The numbers painted on the side were almost completely scratched off. Isaac didn't get out of the car, and Stiles didn't want him to.  
  
"I appreciate what you told me at the station," Isaac said.  
  
Stiles felt like fidgeting. He realized the seat belt was still strapped across his front, and it came undone with a loud snap. Stiles shifted in the cramped space to face Isaac, then said, "You know, you didn't have to come back to work. I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd resigned after what happened."  
  
"It's not a big deal."  
  
"It--what?"  
  
Stiles narrowed his eyes. Isaac found a sudden interest in the seam to his pants, picking at it with bitten down nails.  
  
"It's important that you take your time with this," Stiles chastised.  
  
"I'm used to losing people," Isaac countered.  
  
"That doesn't mean you push yourself until you break."  
  
Isaac grew still.  
  
"Why did you come back to work?" Stiles asked. He watched as Isaac went from being fixated to the line of his khakis, to his busied hands, and then out the window. Stiles liked to see people from profile. It made their eyelashes seem impossibly long and all the angles of their face jut out like an abstract painting. Isaac was no different in this case.  
  
"I couldn't stay in the house anymore," Isaac murmured.  
  
"Okay. That, I can work with. Lemme see your phone?"  
  
Isaac turned back to face Stiles, glancing down at his outstretched hand. He tilted his hips so he could get his phone out from his pocket. He took a second to unlock it before passing it to Stiles. When the phone found its way back into Isaac's lap, his contacts list was one person longer.  
  
"We should hang out tomorrow," Stiles suggested. "I've been told that I'm an expert when it comes to distractions. You'll call me if you're up for it, right?"  
  
Isaac nodded. He unbuckled the seat belt and propped open the door. He stammered out a thank you, an apology, and a goodbye in rapid fire succession. When Isaac flashed him a smile, it was earnest, and Stiles considered that a victory. Isaac cut across the lawn, and Stiles waited until he was through the front door before driving away.

*

Ordering a pizza proved to be difficult. Who even liked the meats toppings, anyway? Not Stiles, that was for sure. He had a more refined taste--his limit to meat on his pizza was a slight addition of chicken. He liked mushrooms, he liked pineapple, he liked thick crust and extra cheese. Isaac had wrinkled his nose to all of the above.  
  
"I want every kind of meat on it."  
  
"That's disgusting. That literally sounds like the worst idea I've ever heard in my life."  
  
"It's a great idea! If you add the black olives, it makes the hamburger really stand out from the pepperoni. Seriously, you gotta try it," Isaac said.  
  
"I'll try it when you get it with a thick crust," Stiles compromised.  
  
Isaac made a noise of disgust.  
  
Stiles flopped back against the arm of the couch. "What do you want me to do? You want your own pizza? I can get you a pizza the way you like it and get a different one for myself," he suggested.  
  
"I can split the--"  
  
Stiles rejected the offer immediately. He was not the kind of person to invite someone into his house and then make them buy their own pizza. It was terrible host etiquette, and he would not stand for it.  
  
"No, I'm getting us two pizzas."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Am I sure I can eat an entire pizza by myself?" Stiles asked.  
  
Stiles knew that wasn't the direction Isaac's question was supposed to be taking. It was a question related to money insecurities, not concern for Stiles' appetite, but it was always better to take the comedic high road when it came to this kind of thing.  
  
The deflection seemed to work wonders on Isaac.  
  
With the worried expression cleared from Isaac's face, Stiles stood up and went digging through the secretary desk to find post-it notes and a pencil. When he returned to the couch, he'd turned into a pencil pin cushion. There was one behind his ear, another stuck in his mouth, and a third poised in his hand.  
  
Isaac almost asked him why he'd grabbed so many, but the answer was made apparent soon enough.  
  
Stiles sat down and propped the post-it notes against his knee to write down the pizza orders. He set one of the pencils down next to his leg, and it disappeared into the dip of the couch within seconds. Isaac noticed and Stiles didn't. Stiles was occupied with the pencil he'd spat out from his mouth. He was using it for all of three seconds, but he'd dropped it at his side so that he could show Isaac what he'd written so far to make sure he'd got it all right.  
  
Isaac looked over the chicken scratch on the post-it. He was struggling to read Stiles' handwriting, and he couldn't help but be distracted with watching the second pencil rolling to its fate in the crack of the couch.  
  
"I know my order, but I still want to write it down in case I get anxious over the phone, that way I can read it off the note without overthinking it," Stiles said, instinctively reaching for where he'd set the pencil down. His fingers dug along the fabric of the sofa, finding nothing.  
  
He let out an expletive in his exasperation, patting uselessly at the top of the cushions. Isaac bit down at his lip to stifle his laughter at the display. He reached over and took the third pencil from behind Stiles' ear. He presented it to him.  
  
Stiles brightened, beaming at Isaac like he'd just given him the keys to Australia. Stiles slumped back down and scrawled his own order onto the note. If he were upset that he might not get to share more than a simple cheese pizza with Isaac, it didn't show. Stiles was kind of enjoying the prospect of his own pizza.  
  
Stiles made the call. Isaac sat quietly, struggling to get comfortable on the sofa.  
  
Maybe Stiles wouldn't care if...  
  
Isaac folded his legs up on the couch. He was pressing his socked feet against the line of Stiles' thigh. Stiles didn't try to move away, nor did his voice falter as he spoke to the person on the phone.  
  
It was nice, until Stiles had to get up. Isaac conceded that it was for a good cause, because Stiles was moving to pick through his selection of video games and movies. He read a few titles out loud, then stopped abruptly.  
  
"Do you want to play a game first, or watch a movie?" he asked.  
  
Isaac took his time thinking over the options and outcomes. The order of gameplay and movies was a matter of importance. If you had to pause during to get up and retrieve the pizzas, which would be the lesser of two evils?  
  
"Movie first," Isaac said, decisively. "If we have to pause in the middle of a game to get the pizzas, the energy dies down. It's not worth it."  
  
Stiles nodded, satisfied with the answer given.  
  
"You can rewind a movie," Isaac added.  
  
"It would be better if we picked a movie we've both seen a bunch of times, so that we don't have to rewind it at all. We'll already know what happens."  
  
"What, like Star Wars or something?"  
  
As predicted, the pizzas came at a climactic moment of the film. They'd been quoting their way through scenes of the movie, and Stiles was impressed with how much Isaac knew about the mechanics of a light saber and a pod racer. It didn't bother Stiles any to leave the movie running as he got up to answer the door.  
  
They took up all of the space on the coffee table to place their cardboard boxes side by side. They finished the movie off with Stiles making considerable headway on his pizza. Isaac was taking his time on each slice, and he wasn't even eating the bones of the crust, which Stiles considered a crime to the art of eating pizzas.  
  
Isaac had never played a game of Mario Kart.  
  
He was a quick learner, and determined to win. He was getting greasy prints all over Stiles' controller. He would have been worried about it if Stiles' controller wasn't clearly glistening with the cheesy extract from his own pizza. Neither of them came in first, though. Their efforts were somehow thwarted by one of the CPU players, and they erupted, yelling at the TV that there was no way Toad could have beat both of them.  
  
Stiles went around and turned on the lamps in the living room as the sunlight drained from the windows. Stiles set up a show to run as background noise on the Netflix queue. Isaac sprawled out across the couch. Stiles made him move his legs, but then he allowed Isaac to lay them out over his lap as they watched the TV. Isaac was unbelievably comfortable, squashed down in the corner of the sofa. There was a warm weight at his ankle where Stiles was resting his hand.  
  
Isaac felt bloated from the amount of pizza he'd gorged on. Stiles had finished off all eight slices of his own. Isaac had one and a half slices left, sitting in their grease stained box.  
  
"I can't believe you ate that monstrosity," Stiles said, staring at the remains. The contents of the box looked a little like a battlefield. There were scraps of meat and olive scattered around a light dusting of parmesan.  
  
"I'm not the one who got pineapple _and_ mushroom for toppings."  
  
"There's more types of meat than I can even count on yours. There are some things that should not come into being, and that pizza is one of them."  
  
"Just try it," Isaac groaned. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You can't criticize me until you've tried it."  
  
Stiles leaned over and picked up the last slice. He bit the point off, chewing thoughtfully. Then, his expression soured.  
  
"God dammit, it's good."  
  
Isaac laughed. Stiles proceeded to eat the rest, frowning as Isaac taunted him about being right. The blatant "I told you so" wasn't necessary, because Isaac came up with far worse insults about Stiles' stubborn judgements. They lapsed back into silence after Isaac's laughter died off, mostly because they got distracted by what was playing on the television.  
  
Isaac was okay with keeping quiet. It was what he was used to. He was beginning to realize that where he found silence to be comfortable, Stiles grew restless in it. Stiles was always the one to speak first, bouncing from topic to topic with ease.  
  
"Are you still not up for doing something on Halloween?" Stiles asked.  
  
"What did you have in mind?"  
  
"There's a party I wanted to go to."  
  
Stiles suggested it casually, leaving it open for Isaac to determine for himself if he wanted to go. His voice hadn't betrayed how nervous he really was, but his movements did. Isaac could feel Stiles tapping his thumb at his ankle.  
  
"You were wrong about the pizza being a good idea," Isaac pointed out. "How do I know I can trust you with taking me to a party?"  
  
"Excuse me? I'm responsible!"  
  
"You lost three pencils in the span of two minutes."  
  
Stiles gaped at him, offended. He started to shove at Isaac's legs, trying to get him off his lap. "Oh, I see how it is. You can find someone _else_ to lay on," he said, wriggling to get out from under Isaac.  
  
Isaac wouldn't allow it. He had a lot of leg, and he was willing to use it to his advantage. He pushed himself more across Stiles, keeping him in place on the couch. Stiles started to slide onto the floor, almost escaping Isaac's legs.  
  
"Okay, I'm sorry! I trust you," Isaac blurted out.  
  
Stiles was halfway to the floor at that point, his shirt hiked up and Isaac's legs were hooked over his chest rather than his thighs. He looked over to Isaac and grinned. Isaac reached for Stiles, helping pull him back up onto the couch.  
  
There was another spell of silence as they adjusted. They went back to their square one positions. With Isaac's legs back over Stiles, he could feel when Stiles started bouncing his knee. This time, Isaac decided to be the one to speak first.  
  
"I'll go with you. You have to pick me up from my house, though."  
  
"You only like me for my car," Stiles said, but he was smiling.

*

Allison was bundled up in a white sweater, a knit cap pulled down to her eyebrows. Her hair was windblown and swept over one shoulder. She was running her fingers through it, braiding it as she meandered the store. Scott was at her side, his hand low on her back as they walked in step together.  
  
They were the kind of couple that looked perfect together, but also like they could be related. They were effortlessly affectionate in public, holding hands and sharing sweet smiles. Stiles wasn't entirely sure why they thought it would be fun to drop in on him while he was at work, but there they were.  
  
Allison had apparently grown bored of traversing the aisles, because the next thing Stiles knew, they were making their way up to the register.  
  
Allison was unexpectedly tactile. If she weren't cozied up against Scott, she was tweaking at Stiles' clothing or ruffling his hair. She was currently doing the latter, looking delighted when it predictably stuck up every which way. Her dark eyes were twinkling as she fawned over Stiles.  
  
"You look so grown up," she praised, tugging at the sleeve of his uniform polo.  
  
"I am a grown up, Allison. I grew up and flew off from Neverland four years ago, how could you forget? That was a great night for us all," Stiles said. "Scott pantsed me in front of everyone I know and love."  
  
Scott snorted. "Dude, it couldn't have been in front of everyone you love, 'cause I was behind you!"  
  
"If it weren't against clerk-customer relationship protocols, I'd punch you."  
  
"I'm surprised you care about the protocol at all," she pointed out. "I mean, there's only one day left before Halloween. It's not like you'll have the job much longer anyway, right?"  
  
Scott stepped back, letting Allison shield him. This was probably the best course of action. Stiles had the odds in his favour when it came to catching Scott's nose in a left hook, but he didn't stand a chance against Allison.  
  
Allison straightened back up. Scott laced their fingers together to keep her from planting them back along Stiles' scalp. Not that he didn't appreciate the attention, of course, but he was trying to look more like a professional and less like Frankenstein's monster.  
  
"We wanted to make sure you were still going with us tomorrow night," Allison said.  
  
"How sweet of you," Stiles sighed, placing one hand over his chest. "And here I was, thinking you came by because you missed me. Where's the love, Allison? I thought you'd be proud of me after I got a job that wasn't regarding felonies."  
  
"I missed you," Scott said.  
  
"You don't count, you always miss me," Stiles jested.  
  
Allison and Scott were forced to jostle to the side, their conversation breaking momentarily so that a customer could get to the register. He caught sight of Isaac restocking one of the shelves nearby. When their eyes met, Isaac seemed startled that Stiles had noticed him.  
  
Stiles tried for a smile, but Isaac was already turning his back, attempting to get back to work. Stiles let his gaze linger a few seconds more, admiring the stick skinny lines of his body and the loops of his curls.  
  
Allison cleared her throat. Stiles twitched, pulling his attention back to her.  
  
"Stiles, what did I just say?"  
  
"Um."  
  
"You don't know, do you?"  
  
Allison wasn't the kind of person to get upset when Stiles got distracted. She was really good about understanding that he needed stuff repeated sometimes, so he didn't feel guilty for shaking his head.  
  
"Scott wanted to make sure you got a date to the party," she said.  
  
Stiles looked past Allison's shoulder and, sure enough, Isaac was watching the scene unfurl from his place at the shelf. Stiles felt his face flush. Scott noticed immediately.  
  
"You did, you asked someone out!" Scott marveled.  
  
"He's not my date," Stiles snapped.  
  
"Is he cute?" Allison asked, laughing when Stiles turned a deeper shade of red.  
  
"He's _not_ my date," he repeated. "We only just started hanging out."  
  
Scott snickered.  
  
"No," Stiles said. "Stop that, I'm being serious."  
  
Then, Allison joined in. They were truly unstoppable when they teamed up against Stiles, weren't they? There was no winning this, he was going to crack from pressure! They'd find out he was bringing Isaac, who was _standing right behind them_ , and then Stiles would probably short circuit.  
  
"Buy something or get out," Stiles croaked.  
  
Scott laughed, clapping him heartily on the shoulder. Allison wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. They tangled back together at the hip.  
  
"Alright, alright. We're leaving," Allison said, grinning.  
  
"See you tomorrow, dude."  
  
Just when Stiles thought it couldn't get any worse, they passed through one of the aisles and Scott insisted to Allison that they stop. He knew all too well what Scott had found. Maybe Stiles had a bad taste in friends, because they all seemed drawn to the same tacky trinkets. He didn't bother watching as Scott went to press the button. He already knew what was coming.  
  
He dropped his head down onto the counter, hiding his face in shame.  
  
 _'Cause this is thriller, thriller night!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to all who have been keeping up with this story. i spent a good chunk of my morning finishing this up in time for today, and oh man am i tired now. i hope the final installment does not disappoint. happy halloween, everyone!

"Are we supposed to knock?"  
  
The door was buzzing on its hinges with the bass line of the unintelligible music. Stiles could taste the promise of alcohol and sweat from inside. His fingers were itching for something to do, and he shoved them into his pockets to mess with cold coins. Isaac was wrapped up in a festive scarf and keeping close to Stiles. Scott was draped over Allison. He was nuzzling his face into the side of her neck, and she was swatting at him as she tried to check her phone.  
  
"Lydia texted me. She wants to meet me out on the balcony," she said. She didn't have to make the effort of putting her phone back into her pocket. She simply held it out to Scott and he did it for her, obedient as a trained dog. She gave a smile to Stiles. "You boys will make sure he stays out of trouble while I'm gone, won't you?"  
  
"We bring the trouble," Isaac said quietly. Allison laughed brightly, causing Isaac to bristle with pride that his joke had come across. She gave Isaac one of her signature looks of sincerity. It was the kind of look that made anyone feel like their input was not only welcome, but wanted.  
  
Then, she turned to kiss Scott on the mouth before shrugging him off her shoulders. Scott ran a hand through his hair and gave Stiles a giddy look.  
  
"She kissed me," he whispered, like it was a secret.  
  
"I know, I was there."  
  
Scott gave him a wide grin. Stiles reached over and stuck his cold hand onto the back of Scott's neck, provoking a yelp.  
  
Allison made the first step toward the door. She slid it open without struggle, which was an impressive feat, considering it looked like it weighed a ton. With the door closed, the suite was merely rattling. Once it had been opened, it was like the Pandora's box of parties. Electronic music thrummed so loud that Stiles could feel it in his chest. Everyone was glowing in the sting of the black lights, filling every corner of the room.  
  
"I'll meet up with you later," Allison told Scott, and then she was gone. She dropped down into the crowd, weaving her way to the balcony, and disappeared.  
  
They followed her a few steps of the way in, closing the door behind them. Once sealed inside, it was a lot hotter than it was in the hallway. Stiles could barely hear himself think, which honestly wasn't a terrible thing.  
  
Scott had apparently been to the building before. He guided them to one of the side rooms, which was doubling as a place to keep all the coats. Stiles was reluctant to strip himself of his flannel. He'd barely had time to blink, and when he looked up from the pile of jackets, Isaac had already stripped off his coat and scarf. Stiles was still struggling to undo the buttons down the front of his own. He got out of the offending clothing eventually, dropping it near Isaac's coat.  
  
It was quiet enough in the back room that they could speak to each other without needing to yell. Scott still found it necessary to get close to Isaac to talk with him, though. He hooked his arm around Isaac's.  
  
"We should dance together," Scott said, wiggling an eyebrow.  
  
"Isn't your girlfriend--?"  
  
"She won't mind! You can dance with her later, if you want. I'm sure she'd like that."  
  
Stiles followed them out, watching as Scott lead Isaac out into the sea of people. Under the lights, Isaac's hair looked metallic gold. His skin was glowing faintly. He was hard to miss, despite being surrounded by a swarm of painted people in all hues of neon colours.  
  
He felt a hand clamp down onto his shoulder, startling him.  
  
Serpentine features and a honey pompadour--it was none other than a sneering Jackson Whittemore.  
  
"I see you dragged the cemetery rat out from hiding," Jackson said. It escalated from a hand to an arm snaking over his shoulders, drawing Stiles close into the line of his body. Stiles squirmed, trying to break free, but Jackson held onto him tighter. He hated that Jackson had to get so close for Stiles to hear him over the music. He could feel Jackson's breath at his neck, and he shuddered. "Tell me, Stiles, do you always use the death of a parent as an intimate bonding perk? Or were you really that desperate to give tall, pale, and sickly a test drive tonight?"  
  
Stiles shoved Jackson away, stumbling to step back.  
  
"It's not like that," he snarled. His hands curled into fists. He felt his nails digging into his palms. He knew it would be useless to try and take Jackson on in a fight, but he was coursing with an energy he didn't know how else to expel. He was struggling to keep his hands at his sides.  
  
Swirled with blue paint and holding a red plastic cup, Danny appeared from seemingly nowhere. "Stiles, how much have you had to drink?"  
  
"I haven't had anything to drink," Stiles spat.  
  
"Let's keep it that way," Danny said.  
  
Stiles turned on his heel and stormed toward one of the refreshment tables, ignoring that he'd heard Jackson calling him a freak the second he'd turned his back. He decided it would be best if he didn't drink himself into a stupor. He cracked open one of the water bottles and swiped one of the candy bars from the bowl.  
  
There was a metal spiral staircase set behind the DJ booth. He made his way to it, sitting down on one of the steps and sipping off the water bottle. The stairway allowed Stiles to see the dance floor and through the glass doors to the balcony. He figured this would be a schematic vantage point.  
  
He watched as Allison spoke animatedly with Lydia. The balcony was not exclusive to them, however. Stiles could make out the shadowed forms of a few couples along the line of the railing. The moonlight illuminated Lydia's strawberry blonde locks. Stiles never did see Lydia's face, though. She kept her back to the doors, one hand poised at her hip.  
  
Stiles took a second to rip open the packaging on the candy bar. He broke off one of the chocolate squares and popped it into his mouth.  
  
His gaze shifted out to the dance floor, where he picked out Isaac's tall form. Scott's head was tipped back against Isaac's chest. There was a third person who had gladly joined them. She had spindles of pink paint across her stomach, clearly visible because she'd stripped down to a bra. Her curls were tighter and paler than Isaac's own, and her eyes looked startlingly huge. Stiles tried not to be jealous of the fact Isaac was sliding his hands along his best friend's waist.  
  
Well, that was a new side to Isaac that Stiles wasn't ready to wrap his head around.  
  
He took another draining swig from the water. His vision went blurry, and he felt too lazy to focus his eyes. The scenery watered down into a gleaming haze. He bit off another square of the chocolate and let it melt in his mouth. He blinked and the world became sharp.  
  
"Stiles?"  
  
He turned at the sound of his name, surprised to find Kira and Malia at the top of the stairs. He pulled himself to a stand and took the steps two at a time to join them at the second floor. Kira plucked the chocolate bar from his hands, breaking off a piece and passing it to Malia.  
  
They looked thoroughly ruffled from the party. Malia was stained with glitter. It shimmered in her hair and was dusted across her shorts. Her skin looked like a belt of stars in the gloom of the upstairs. Kira was wearing a dark bra and skinny jeans. A highlighter green sweater was tied at her waist. Red and yellow paint streaked across her torso, fanning out like flames.  
  
"I didn't think anyone was allowed upstairs?"  
  
"My cousin owns the building," Malia boasted. She bit down into the chocolate and didn't let the mouthful of candy deter her from speaking. "He's out of town right now. He's got an awesome view from his room, you wanna come see?"  
  
"If you're worried about disappearing on some of your friends, you're welcome to bring them up with you," Kira added. Stiles watched as she picked off another square of chocolate, and he decided that he was okay with the fact he wouldn't be getting it back.  
  
"Maybe later," Stiles said.  
  
"Last door on the left," Malia informed him. She rolled the elastic off her wrist and started to tie her hair up in a messy bun. "Knock before you come in, 'kay?"  
  
"Sure, no problem."

*

When he reunited with his friends downstairs, they were considerably more naked than when he left them. Allison had dunked her fingertips into the paints and was smearing bold patterns down the front of Scott's belly. Scott must have been drinking, because he was stabilizing himself with one hand on Isaac and the other on the table.  
      
"Isaac, can you get me the pink?"  
      
At Allison's request, Isaac twisted around and got the bowl of paint for her. She slid her pinky across the top, then let him put it back at the table. She swiped the tip of Scott's nose with the pink paint, smiling.  
      
"How come you didn't get painted?"  
      
"I did!" Allison said, and she spun around to show off. One half of her stomach was dotted with intricate flowers. The other was a mess of vibrant gashes of colour. It did not come as a surprise to Stiles when she told him that Isaac did the flowers and Scott the rest.  
      
Allison pushed Stiles over to Isaac. Scott was content with her peeling him away from the table to go back out to dance. Isaac watched them leave; Stiles did not. He was busy picking out one the smaller brushes and swabbing it in blue.  
      
"Isaac's first paint job," Stiles said. "You sure you're ready for this?"  
      
"Do I get any say on what's going on my chest?"  
      
"Nope."  
  
Stiles deserved a gold metal.  
  
Isaac was shiny with sweat, his curls slicked to his forehead. Stiles liked to think he was imagining the hitch in Isaac's breath when the first drop of paint swiped across his skin. He was close enough to hear when Isaac swallowed roughly. He set his free hand at Isaac's hip to help him keep steady.  
  
"This okay?"  
  
Isaac nodded, propping himself against the edge of the table and settling. Once he'd stilled, Stiles resumed his masterpiece. He marked each line with practiced precision. He knew the design by heart.  
  
Stiles needed a secondary colour. With the way one of the bowls had lit up, he couldn't tell what colour it was, but it was stunning and electric. He went for it, carefully lining the logo he'd etched over Isaac's skin.  
  
"I'm bad at circles," Stiles warned. "Don't move."  
  
The music was still lively, masking any cues that Stiles was used to depending on. He was thankful for the proximity. If he weren't so close, he wouldn't have heard Isaac hum low in his throat.  
  
Stiles stepped back when he'd finished. Isaac looked ecstatic, tracing the edges of the circle with his index finger. There, in all of its glory: the Batman symbol. His years of trying to replicate it on graph paper and in notebooks had not all been for naught.  
  
Isaac grabbed the hem of Stiles' shirt. "Your turn?"  
  
Stiles laughed, shaking his head. "This stays on," Stiles said.  
  
He wasn't sure he could make it through the night if he had to walk around shirtless. He was spattered in moles and his ribs poked out and his happy trail was more an Oregon trail--filled with tears and potential death scenarios for all involved.  
  
Isaac shrugged, going for paint anyway. He had no issues sinking the brush into blue and running it across the bridge of Stiles' nose. He continued the stripe down both of Stiles' cheekbones, like war paint. He accented the blue with a line of dots in a hazardous orange.  
  
Stiles wasn't as nice about paint. He instantly pressed along the side of his face when Isaac was done, staining the whorls of his fingertips.  
  
"Looks good," Isaac said. "Or it did, until you stuck your hand in it."  
  
"Thanks, I do my best."  
  
Stiles had left his water upstairs, and his mouth was starting to go dry. He was sure it had something to do with the way Isaac was watching him. He cleared his throat, leaning a little closer so he didn't have to keep yelling.  
  
"Did you get to dance with Allison?"  
  
Isaac nodded, then threaded his fingers up through Stiles' hair. He was only messing it up, but he seemed to be enjoying the result thoroughly. "Do I get to dance with you at some point tonight?"  
  
"I don't think so, I'm a terrible dancer."  
  
Stiles held his hand out, and Isaac didn't hesitate in taking it. They pushed through the crowd, crossing from one table to the next with relative ease. Isaac stopped at the bowl of punch. Stiles peered into it, noticing the fake eyeballs bobbing about in the pink liquid. Isaac got one of the cups and filled it half way.  
  
Stiles resumed the lead, taking Isaac to the stairs. They climbed to the second floor. Stiles dropped Isaac's hand once they were upstairs and started to look for his water bottle, but it was nowhere to be found. Isaac was looking around with huge eyes, a troubled expression set on his face.  
      
Stiles stopped in his search. "What's wrong?"  
      
"Is it okay for us to be up here?"  
      
"Yeah, it shouldn't be a problem."  
      
Isaac wasn't buying it.  
      
"It's fine, my cousin owns the building," Stiles lied.  
      
"What's his name?"  
      
Holy shit, that reaction time was fast. Why didn't he just tell him that Malia gave him permission? What was _wrong_ with him?  
      
"He's, uh. Miguel?"  
      
"I'm sure he is."

*

The door hadn't been closed properly. When Stiles knocked on it, it squeaked open. No one was inside. He stepped inside and kicked off his shoes, padding across the carpet in his socks. The room was sparsely furnished. The bed's blankets had all been cast to the floor, the sheets skewed over the mattress. There was a stout table with an alarm clock set at the bedside, and nothing else.  
  
The window was as tall as it was wide. The panes were cold to the touch, and it allowed a view of the entirety of a glittering Beacon Hills below. There was a fog settling in over the line of trees. Heavy clouds made the moon waver.  
  
Stiles leaned close to the window and breathed across it. He poked a smiley face into the steam. Isaac came up to his side. He splayed an open palm over the glass of the window. When he retracted, his hand left streaks over the glass.  
  
Isaac brought his plastic cup to his lips and took a drink, then handed it to Stiles. He looked down into the cup. Isaac had deliberately put one of the rubber eyeballs into it. Stiles drank from the cup and passed it back.  
  
Stiles was learning to appreciate the silence. When Isaac started to get quiet, it was because he was thinking through his words before he said them. Stiles wasn't the kind of person to think that far ahead. He rarely enabled his filter, spewing out whatever stories came through his head, but he wanted to get better about that.  
  
Instead, he took his moment to look up at Isaac. He had broad shoulders and nice arms. His hair was still frazzled. Stiles didn't know how he'd missed the line of lipstick at Isaac's throat--he assumed it was from that blonde who had been dancing with him and Scott from earlier. Isaac brought the cup back to his lips. Isaac turned to Stiles. He gave him a smile and Stiles jumped.  
  
There was the eyeball, sitting between Isaac's teeth.  
  
Stiles crossed his arms, pouting.  
  
"You're awful," he sighed. "I was trying to have a moment."  
  
Isaac snorted, dropping the eyeball back into the cup with a splash. He moved from the window, walking around the room and peering at the bare walls. He set the cup down onto the side table and dived onto the bed. Stiles climbed up next to him, and Isaac rolled over onto his back.  
  
"You got paint on the bed," Stiles said.  
  
Isaac struggled to sit up. He looked down, finding that the Batman symbol had smudged onto the sheets.  
  
"My bad."  
  
"Yeah, that is your bad. I did a good job painting that."  
  
"It was gonna wash off anyway," Isaac said.  
  
"The symbol may not last, but Batman is forever."  
  
Isaac pulled on Stiles until they were side by side. He felt Isaac's fingers slide down his wrist. Stiles laced their fingers together and stared up at the ceiling, trying to rid that horrible blush from his face solely by willpower. He couldn't resist watching the bow of Isaac's lips, splitting to a smirk.  
  
"So, I've been downgraded to 'not your date' for tonight," Isaac remarked.  
  
Stiles choked on a nervous laugh, drawing in on himself. "I wasn't sure you'd be up for that kind of thing," he admitted. "Considering all the shit you've been through lately."  
  
"You're not wrong, I have been going through some shit. You've been helpful, but I don't know how long it'll take for me to feel okay again," Isaac admitted. He squeezed Stiles' hand tightly. Stiles felt his chest tighten.  
  
"That's okay," Stiles said. "I think you're worth waiting for."

Isaac jolted, like hearing that surprised him. He pressed close to Stiles, using his free hand to tilt Stiles' face to look at him. Isaac's eyes were wide, the blue looking gray in the faded shadows of the room.

"You think so?"

Stiles nodded.

Isaac took a moment to trace each speck at Stiles' face. He was focused, like he were trying to memorize them. He dragged the pad of his thumb down the line of Stiles' cheek, connecting the dots. Isaac leaned close and caught his lips in a kiss.  
  
Stiles hadn't kissed anyone in a long time--long enough that he'd worried he'd forgotten how to do it. He let his hands move on their own, sliding to fit at the cool skin of Isaac's waistline. He felt jittery, skittish, gripping at Isaac like he was going to fall over.  
  
It wasn't a heated kiss, it was soft and tentative. When Isaac pulled away, it wasn't from Stiles' body. He didn't put space between them. Stiles wrapped his arms around Isaac, tucking his face into the crook of Isaac's neck. He planted a kiss over the mark of lipstick there. He felt chills bump across Isaac's skin. Stiles smoothed his hands over them. They burrowed down into the bed, laying and listening to the hum of music from downstairs.  
  
For once, Stiles didn't feel restless. He was content to not move at all.


End file.
